


Patchwork Family

by Waynesgrayson (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Hannigram, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Nightmares, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Violence, Will Finds Out, Will Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you think we'll ever find out what's wrong with me?”<br/>“No. Something tells me you're one in a million, Will Graham.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patchwork Family

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does not follow the show. It's of it's own accord. It's crack pretty much. I don't even think I know what this is. I just wanted a Will and Beverly friendship. Like really badly.  
> It's been a few years since I've taken French so it is what it is. Hopefully I don't mess up too bad.  
> The tags may be a bit misleading this is a fairly light fic, nothing hard to swallow.

The first time it happens he's eight and home alone. It's a simple mistake, nothing unheard of or even shocking. He simply slips on his way down the stairs, and bangs his head against the wooden step they use for their shoes. It hurts of course, and Will finds time to be disappointed in his clumsiness on the way down. He even thinks about how he'll for sure have bruises the next day.

When his head cracks against the shoe rack he screams in pain, but again, doesn't think too much of it. Of course he'll be fine. Just sore for the next little while, and a little wary of the stairs.

It isn't until he finds himself unable to get up that he allows himself to panic. His head is wet and it feels as if the wetness is keeping him to the ground. Tears slip from his eyes as he tries to get up and when he tastes them on his lips along with the unmistakeable tang of blood, Will realizes what's happening.

He's bleeding out in the foyer of their little home, the only witnesses are his two dogs, both now barking at the fact that Will isn't getting up and at the fact that they seem to be held back by the halo of blood surrounding him.

His last thoughts are of his dogs.

Will wakes with a start, his body shooting up as if electrocuted and through the pain Will grasps his head, yanking out some of his hair in the process. Sobs wrack his body as the tingling sensation burns through his body, causing his hair to stand and his teeth to chatter as if he wasn't being boiled alive, but ice cold.

In a way he is.

Cold and hot shoot through his body at different times causing tears of frustration to surface. He pulls at his clothes but finds it difficult to remove them, almost as if the fabric was glued to his body. It was then that he notices the blood all down the length of his body, and the gooey looking print of where he was on the floor.

Through his tears and the shakes he looks past his little bubble and takes in what he can of the house. It's still and quiet with the exceptions to his dogs who are now yipping quietly at his awareness, tails wagging in anticipation of a walk or being fed. Despite his current predicament he couldn't help but smile at them, though it was shaky and painful. He notices they're covered in blood just like he is and it's obvious they eventually won against the blood that spooked them earlier and found it in themselves to lie next to him.

His heart beats a little faster at the thought.

He sniffles and rubs at his eyes. It doesn't help much, but it makes him feel more in control, because he understands that while he has an idea of what just happened to him, he actually has no real clue.

He's confused and lost and he wants to be told everything will be all right.

Will jumps when the door's unlocked and opened. The spike of panic that goes through him is nothing like shock he felt when he first woke, but it still causes him some pain and a groan escapes him before he can stop it.

His fathers greeting dies on his lips when he rounds the corner and sees his son looking like something that crawled out a horror movie. Bloodied and beaten looking, he doesn't waste time in dropping this things and rushes to his son.

“Will? Will?” he says, his voice rushed and nothing but a whisper. He grabs his sons hands, turning them over in his own before dropping them and carefully cupping Will's face. Tears come to his eyes when Will slowly places his shaking hands over his own, “Ce qui s'est passé?”

Will feels himself shy inwards. Somehow he feels like he's done something wrong, like drop and shatter a glass, or forget to clean the dogs paws before letting them inside.

“Je suis tombé.”

His father closes his eyes as silent tears escape down his cheeks, “Oh Will. Ça va. It's going to be okay.” Will is picked up and carried to the bathroom, hands clutching the fabric of his papa's shirt the entire way.

\--

His father cleans him up. The bath is quiet and Will spends most of the time watching his papa. He isn't completely closed off, but Will can tell he wants nothing more then to fold in on himself for a while. Will almost feels the internal debate enter his own body, and when the buzz of another mind begins to shake his body he looks away from his papa.

His father notices though. He always does. At first he had a hard time with Will's empathy, often forgetting that it's something Will can't fully control. “I'm sorry, Will.” and with a heavy sigh Will feels his father relax, and in turn the buzz slowly dims.

Later, after the blood is cleaned from the floor and the dogs, Will sits on the floor of the living room, blankets and dogs surrounding him and a bowl of stew in his hands. He eats it all and more when his father pushes bowl after bowl into his hands.

Once his stomach is uncomfortably full, Will stands up and joins his papa on the couch. He presses himself as close as he can and leans into the little divot, burrowing himself there. He closes his eyes when fingers begin combing thorough his hair and gently messaging his scalp, careful of the tenderness there.

Will's head doesn't hurt as bad anymore, and he finds himself almost asleep when he asks, “Papa? What's wrong with me.”

The fingers didn't stop or tense, and when he looked up at his papa with sleepy eyes he sees that he's lost in thought.

He falls asleep to calm breathes, soothing fingers and the words, “Nothing, Will. Nothing at all.”

\--

Injuries are frequent, though none of them cause him to fade away like last time. Small things like falling off his bike and skinning his knees and palms, bee stings and bug bites turned bloody from constant scratching, and tripping over his untied shoelaces. Nothing big. But his papa begins to notice that scratches never stay longer then a few minutes, and any damage that causes blood lose is healed over with a faint scar in the matter of an hour.

His papa eventually explains to him what happened the first time. How he had died and was brought back to earth for a second chance.

“Trop jeune. God sent you back for more time.” Will knows he's lying and that he's hiding things, but he doesn't say anything about it, just nods and promises to try and be careful.

Will, for once, feels like a superhero, invincible and indestructible, and papa never corrects him.

It happens again at the age of fourteen.

Of course there was an incident just as bad as the first in between. He was twelve and thought he alone could fix Mr. Nades's lawn mower. After all, he had been watching papa fix motors and such things for what felt like forever, and he felt like that professionalism extended to him in some way. He may as well be an expert. So, when Will found himself sitting alone in the grass of their backyard, hand and wrist inside with the motor, he wasn't sure how one moment quickly led to another entirely.

What seemed like nothing in time, Will was suddenly staring at his wrist with an almost comical look of shock on his face as he took in the sight before him. His hand was lying on the ground and not on his wrist.

The pain hadn't reached him yet, the shock enough to cover it. Instead, his other hand reached for the one on the ground. It felt unreal holding his hand in his hand, wide eyes staring at it, unable to comprehend what just happened. All he knew was that he needed to put it back.

“How.” he said to his severed hand. It didn't answer.

A few hours, a package of dental floss, a fishing lure, and a lot of hurt and blood later, Will had his hand back on. It was odd and uncomfortable. Almost like wearing a watch on the wrong wrist, but he knew he could deal with it.

When his papa came home Will got a reaction he wasn’t expecting, and found himself once again in shock as he watched papa breakdown from too much laughter after the initial shock wore off.

“Oh, Will.” he had said while brushing the tears off his cheek, “What am I going to do with you?”

Will found he could only shrug at that, and it earned another chuckle.

“Come on, let's get you fixed up proper.”

An hour later Will had function of both his hands again, with no tell anywhere on his wrist that something had happened.

\--

At fourteen, he's hit by a car. He's walking down to the store for a few things at his papa's request. He takes his time getting there, hands playing with the money in his pocket, mind running through the list over and over,

'Milk, onions, beans, milk, onions, beans, milk onions, beans...'

Part of it is his fault, he's certain of it. He wasn't paying attention to where he was walking, though it didn't really matter in the end. He did have the right away.

His head lolls to the side and sees the panicked face of the driver through half lidded eyes. Her eyes are red and puffy, tears and black makeup leaking down her flushed cheeks. She holds his head in her hands and he sees her panic so vividly that it causes him to groan and shift in towards himself.

“No, no, no, no-” she chants eyes frantically searching his face. She looks up at the many voices of the audience around them, “Appelez une ambulance!” she yells and he knows someone has done what she's asked when she turns back to him. She moves closer and cradles his head in her lap, fingers lightly pulling at his hair and cheeks. He can feel the blood leaking from his temple and down his face, her thumbs rub it into his skin in a circular motion. He thinks it's meant to be comforting.“Je suis désolé, désolé,-” She's frantic.

He wants to tell her not to worry, that he'll be fine and that she's doing a good job. But, the darkness is too much for him to handle and he finds himself falling, against her wishes and his own.

\--

The chill in the air is what brings Will back to the surface. The world is quiet and still, and Will immediately knows something is wrong. He can't move, and he's naked with nothing but a thin sheet covering his skin. He wants to look but can't, the darkness making it difficult. The darkness makes his head swim and he can feel the beginning of tears well up in his eyes. His hands reach up and brush against the ceiling of the tiny compartment, and his arms touch the walls on either side, and with a muffled sob he realizes he's in a mortuary fridge.

He can't stop himself from crying. The tears go down his temples and into his hair, some making it to his ears and tickling the flesh. He huffs, trying to control his breathe but the more aware of his situation he becomes the more panicked he gets. His vision narrows and soon he sees shadows of the others who have inhabited the same spot. Heartbreakingly sweet smiles and laughs are followed by stone faced stares. Hard and cold. Some looking like themselves and other so mangled and deranged his heart pounds wildly at the unfairness of their deaths.

He doesn't know any of them, and he doesn’t want to. So he tries to control his breathing, counting in his head to ten and back again, trying to envision his papa doing it with him and not the countless and nameless faces of the long dead.

He sort of succeeds. His vision returns to normal, but the edges are hazy. He counts the victory anyway.

Times passes, and soon he hears noises coming from outside the compartment. He tries to hone his hearing to make out the sounds but can't over his shaking body and clattering teeth. He just wants to go home, but part of him is terrified at the thought of someone opening the drawer and coming face to face to a very much alive teenage boy.

His fears come to life almost immediately. He feels the drawer door be given a hard tug and soon light floods in the small space. Will blinks and feels his eyes burn as they adjust to the intrusion. All too soon his tray is pulled out and he forces himself to close his eyes and stay as still as possible, taking shallow breathes.

A hand touches his cheek, patting it softly, “Will?”

Will nearly sobs in relief at his papa's voice. He opens his eyes and takes in the very tired ones looking at him. He allows himself to be picked up, and he buries his face into where neck meets shoulder, clutching on to his papa for dear life. His father kisses his forehead and nods to the very confused and very much shocked doctor standing in the room before walking away.

\--

They move very soon after that.

\--

Throughout the years Will died and experienced painfully and horrific injuries. Losing fingers and limbs, getting cuts through major arteries and vessels. Will is a walking and talking, fully functional, without the smell and terrible hygiene - zombie. Or that's at least what he likes to think. It somehow makes him feel a little better about his situation, being able to kid about it.

\--

His father passes away when he's twenty two. A car accident much like the one he experienced, and Will found himself numb unlike anything he's ever felt before. He was given a few days off to sort himself out, he was told that the Academy and his partner would make due without him for awhile. It was selfish of Will, he knew, but with his empty home and head he couldn't stop himself from wondering who would take care of him the next time he kicked the bucket.

With the days he has off he hurts himself. He isn't normally one for self harm but he feels like this is an exception that's allowed.

It's after it all, when he's treating burn wounds so he has something to do with his hands that he realizes he needs help. That he can't handle what he has alone.

Through the hundreds of tears that fall, Will makes a decision.

\--

He always knew he wanted to be a cop. His need to protect people and save them from the fates he's suffered was always burning at the front of his mind. This wish mixing with his empathy often made reading the news difficult. Anger at the unfairness mixing with the victims horror made him difficult to be around, though his father always managed, doing everything he could to get the money to send Will off the a school that would help him achieve his wish.

And he did.

It was at the Academy where he met her. He wasn't really looking for a friend, only making himself friendly enough to earn the trust and respect of his classmates. But, it seemed fate had other ideas, and practically dropped Beverly Katz into his unsuspecting lap.

At first he played it safe, keeping his answers small and interest distant when she plopped her tray down one day at lunch and began talking up a storm.

“I don't understand how the fuck Professor Morgan gets away with that comb over. It's ridiculous. And really, who does he think he's fooling? He's in a room full of future cops, it's our job to observe and catalogue detail. I'm pretty sure it's the first thing anyone notices. No amount of anything can hide that disaster...”

He doesn't want to get involved in case it's a joke. He may have the trust of his classmates, or at least enough to get through training and teamwork exercises, but he's still, in the eyes of them all, a loner. No one wanted to be his friend, he's accepted that fact. So he doesn't allow himself to get comfortable around Beverly, only making small noises when needed and quickly shaking her hand when she offered.

\--

He should have known it wouldn't have gone like he thought.

\--

Beverly sat with him everyday at lunch and even began sitting with him in the classes they shared; filling his silence with words and laughter. He was annoyed at her persistence, but also secretly thankful for it. He couldn't deny it to himself that he liked the attention.

Once he realized that he actually enjoyed Beverly's company he started reacting. Returning her waves and smiles in the hallways, actively looking for her before lectures and in the lunch hall, and studying with her on and off campus. He soon started participating in regular conversations.

Beverly leans back in her chair, smile smug as she watches Will ramble on, “Well, well, well, look who's a little chatty Miss Cathy!”

Will smiles and feels his cheeks flush and he feels different. A good different.

It takes a little while longer for what they have to become natural for him. He isn't sure when it happened, but it soon becomes a given, finding Graham and Katz at the hip anytime.

Beverly Katz is his right hand woman.

She's the first person beside his papa he tries to make eye contact with. She asks and prods about it, makes him blush and sputter, but he finds he doesn't mind and soon maintains it for moments at a time. Part of him knows he's taking for granted how open Beverly is. What you see is what you get with her and when he looks into her eyes he's not trampled with things unsaid or locked thoughts, but Will doesn't care. He has a friend, and that's all that matters.

\--

Will jumps slightly when a hand ruffles his curls, and he huffs at Beverly who sprawls ungracefully in the chair across from him. “Whatcha doin' there, Willy?”

Really, he's not doing anything. He _should_ be finishing his report, but opted for staring at nothing for the better part of an hour. He was thinking, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to share.

“I thought I asked you not to call me that.”

“You did. I decided not to listen.”

“What else is new?”  
“Wow, hurtful.”

Will laughs and Beverly smiles.

“No seriously, though, what are you doing?”

Will sighs,“Nothing, Bev.”

“Bitch, do not with me. Tell me.”

Will huffs again and closes his books, placing them on the table in between them. He worry's his hands for a moment, feeling anxiety jump through him at different levels of intensity.

He doesn't think he can do it.

“Will?” It's the worry in her voice that shatters him.

“I can't die.”

\--

The confession causes a slight riff in their relationship. Will doesn't like the hesitance Bev now has around him. She hides it well, and continues to hang around with him constantly. He can almost believe nothing is wrong between them, and he doubts anyone else can tell. But he sees through her little facade and for once can't find it in himself to be mad at someone for putting on a mask around him.

Then he gets stabbed during a routine city check.

It was simple. Something they've done hundreds of times. Only meant to clear out alleys and sidewalks of drug dealers, prostitutes, and anyone else causing trouble. Nothing new. But all it takes is one person with an itchy finger and a drug induced frenzy, and Will finds himself laid out on the wet concrete, Beverly's yells and disappearing footfalls the only sounds to him.

He's jolted a bit and Beverly comes into view, face full of worry.

“Will. Will? Come on we have to get you to a hospital.” Beverly's voice is steady, but the underlining panic was obvious and Will couldn't help but smile.

“What? What's so funny? Will, you quit this right now or I'll castrate you!”

Will laughs as Beverly's voice gets more and more shrill, an endless string of threats spilling from her lips, though Will knows for a fact they are all empty.

“Will!” she all but screams in his face,“Help is on the way and I'd appreciate it if you stopped laughing.”

Will didn't know she called in for help, but he doesn't really care. He pulls on her arm and she lowers her head so her ear is over his mouth.

“Shirt.”

She tilts her head in confusion, looking between him and his injured shoulder. Lowering herself back down he says,“Move my shirt, Bev.”

That she seems to understand more, and begins unbuttoning the first few buttons of his uniform. She gives a shaky laugh at his lack of undershirt, “Scant, Graham. Did you plan this, you dirty dog you?”

She gasps when she pushes the shirt away and sees that the once heavily bleeding gash is now nothing more then a bright red line marking his skin. She looks at him, incredulous.

“Okay,” she says, nodding her head, “Explain.”

He does, and the next time he clumsily cuts his thumb off, Beverly is there, stitching it to his hand.

And if he happens to never hear another masturbation joke for the rest of his life, he thinks he'll be okay with that.

“It's funny, Will.”

“No, Bev, it's really not.”

“Kill joy.”

\--

“I used to call myself a superhero when I was younger. Because of this.”

Will's quiet for awhile after that and Beverly just watches him. Patient.

“He wasn't the best man, or father for that matter. Worked a lot, had a temper, didn't see much of him. But he took care of me. Took care of whatever this is like it was second nature. Like he knew.”

“You think he did?”

Will gives a sad smile.

“No, I don't.”

\--

As the years progress they both move on and up from New Orleans. Beverly finds herself taking the

route of crime scene investigator, and lands a job in Virginia. She tells Will with an excitement so contagious that in the moment he feels nothing but elation and contentment for her success. It's not until later that he feels emotion swirling in his stomach. Emotion so strong he feels sick for days. It takes him awhile to realize that it's dread and greed, and he knows that he doesn't want her to leave. So he does the only thing he can do.

She's shocked.

Will knows she is, he's spent the last few days pondering this decision and while he knows Beverly is her own person and is ready to move on with her life, he can't let her go.

When she hands in her notice, he hands in his as well.

“Getting a little co-dependent, aren't we?” she smirks, but he can tell the smugness is fake, and he almost bursts when he sees her happiness.

“Can't do this without you, Bev.” It's honest and it's truth and if they tear up a bit, neither mention it.

They find a decent sized farm house just outside of Quantico, practically in the middle of nowhere, or so Beverly insists, making horror movie references at every chance. Going as far as cracking the bathroom door open while Will showers and screaming,“Here's Johnny!”

He forgets for a moment why he left with her.

A month after they move in and settle, Will brings home his first stray.

Three months later, with Beverly's help and encouragement, he goes after the teaching job at Quanitco.

Almost a year later, he's introduced to Jack Crawford and a front row view of the horrors Virginia has to offer.

\--

“I'll kill him for you.”

“No.”

“They won't find out.”

“No.”

“Guaranteed no evidence!”

“Bev, I said no.”

“But, Will.” she all but whines as they walk in the door. They dump their stuff and give their attention to the wave of dogs that greet them. Once they've satisfied their pack the two make their way to the kitchen, grabbing things and starting a very later dinner.

“I just don't like the way he treats you. It's terrible!”

“It is what it is.”

“Oh no, don't you go and pull that shit on me, Will Graham, I will eat you.”

“Is that a confession?”

She turns to him, a look of amused annoyance on her face, “Oh haha very funny. It's still not okay.”

“I know.”

\--

He opens his eyes, though the process is a slow one. It feels like something's keeping them shut closed. Ropes of something appear in front of his eyes, too close for comfort and he hates that he can't move them away. That he can't move his hands. They're tied away from his body to something he can't see, his head kept secure and in place and if he concentrates hard enough he can feel an intrusion in his skull, in the middle of his forehead. He doesn't know what makes him so sure but he knows he's been nailed down. Head, stomach, throat, and thighs. He wonders why it doesn't hurt like he knows it should. Wonders why he isn't healed.

That causes panic. He tries harder to move his arms and legs and with the movement he feels the beginning of rope burn. Tears of frustration flow down his face. The warm tears a nice change from his frozen body. He whimpers and whines behind a gagged mouth, and the frustration turns to shame.

He feels dirty and wrong and it's all his fault.

He wants to be able to speak, to tell them that he's sorry but they won't let him. Instead they let him hang and cry. He deserves it after all.

His body convulses suddenly and he feels relief. His mind and body connecting and coming back.

“Hey, hey, hey, Will?”

“Will?”

“Come on, buddy, back to me.”

“We have to get you cleaned up.”

The shaking stops but the speech doesn't. It fades slightly but when it returns it comes with the slight burn of medicine and the coolness of a damp cloth.

“How in the hell does this happen? No more Bible reading for you, you freak.”

When he finds himself able to use his throat, he laughs.

\--

“Do you think we'll ever find out what's wrong with me?”

“No. Something tells me you're one in a million, Will Graham.”

\--

One night, after a particularly nasty stray, Beverly is bandaging Will's hand. The dogs are quiet and the new one is pacing in it's cage, whining every once in a while but otherwise tame, realizing that her new owners won't hurt her. Beverly names her Wicked.

“You know that is isn't necessary, right?”

Beverly looks up at him but doesn't stop her working, “Shut up. It makes me feel better.”

He smiles, “I don't think I've ever thanked you for doing this. At any point.”

“You don't have to thank me, Will. You're my best friend, it's what I do.”

She grabs his head and kisses his forehead. He closes his eyes and thanks any and every god there may be for giving him Beverly. “Now, go and change. We're joining Jimmy and Bri for drinks.”

Will groans and she smacks his arm. “If it helps I invited Doctor Alana Bloom.”

She says the Doctor's name breathlessly, and fans herself while fluttering her eyelashes. Will feels his face flush and mutters a quick, “Shut up.” before hurrying upstairs.

“I'd let her teach me psychology _all_ night long” she yells after him. He flushes again, and Beverly's laugh follows him the entire way up.

The drive to the bar is quiet and comfortable, though Will can feel Beverly is a little on edge. He frowns, not entirely sure what has her bothered. He opens his mouth to ask, but she beats him to it.

“You're considering it, right?”

Will sighs inwardly, not taking his eyes off the road. Not wanting to have this conversation again. “Considering what.”

“Man,” she whines, “you know what I'm talking about, don't pull that shit.”

He doesn't answer. She doesn't expect him to.

“Therapy.”

“Therapy doesn't work on me.”

“You need someone to talk to.”

“I have you.”

“I mean someone who can really help you, Will.”

He sighs knowing she's right. He knows that she means well, that she has his best interests in mind and that she wouldn't be pushing this if she didn't think it would make a difference. That seeking professional help would in fact help the hallucinations and vivid dreams he's been having.

At first it wasn't a problem. He was use to experiencing detailed and macabre nightmares and had no problem shaking them off in the morning. Sometimes it took a little more; spiked coffee, painkillers and the works, but he usually sorted himself out by the time he reached the Academy parking lot.

Then he started dying in them, and because of the intensity of it all, he started dying in real life. Every night he went to sleep and the crime scene Jack had him working would come back full force, choking the life out of him for the night.

Drowning, stabbing, suffocating.

Being impaled and left on display for people in a museum. Being able to hear their claps and murmurs of interest as his heart bleeds down his body and onto the floor. Wetting it with a sickening smack.

Served as dinner. Devoured.

More then once she's had to cover for him, calling in late and dealing with his dead body.

She never mentions it after he's alive again, but he knows it's sometimes too much. He knows first hand what waking up to a dead body can do to a person, and that fact that it's her best friend just makes it worse.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her fold her arms over her chest, and he hates how small and helpless it makes her seem. He hates that he causes it.

“I'm not saying all the time. I'm just saying every once in a while. You know you can talk to me about this stuff, Will, but I'm just worried I can't help you the way you need. The way you deserve.”

He's silent for a moment and decides he can't take the tension. “Aren't you afraid someone else will become my best friend?”

She punches his arm.

“Driving!”

“Smart ass.”

Two weeks later he's introduced to Hannibal Lecter through Jack at Alana's request.

\--

Beverly watches as Will walks, admittedly shakily, to the car parked a little while away from the crime scene. She wants to go after him and can feel her legs twitch slightly as they try and battle her brain on the matter. She tells herself she'll see him later, and continues to take pictures and samples, mind still part on Will.

By the time Crawford has allowed them to leave she's tired and annoyed and seriously thinking about lying next to the body if it meant people would leave her alone. But she doesn't, and opts for the car she knows Will is still brooding in.

Before she can reach him however, she's stopped. A gloved hand reaches out to her but doesn't touch. She turns and faces Doctor Lecter.

“A word, if I may, Miss. Katz.”

“Beverly, and sure.”

He smiles. “Of course.”

“I would like to speak to you about Will Graham.”

\--

Later that evening she and Will are sitting on the porch watching their pack run around in the field behind their house. He hasn’t spoken a word since his break down of the crime scene, and for once Beverly doesn't know what to say. He's heard it all, from her more often then anyone else. Sometimes it was best to just let him sit with company.

Her conversation with the Doctor wasn't very enlightening. Just filled with fabricated words and double meanings. She got bored a few sentences in; he wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, and contrary to his belief, Beverly does know her friend better and more intimately then a Doctor who's gotten three sentences from Will would, if that.

“You gonna talk?”

Will does turn to look at her but doesn't say anything.

“Yeah,” she says reaching out and patting his leg, “that's what I thought.”

“I'm here for you, you know that right? Anytime you need to talk.”

He nods, and it's good enough for tonight.

\--

“Another day, another dead body.” she says with a click of her camera.

“For once I would like to get a phone call telling me what a wonderful job I've been doing, or an invitation to dinner, or coffee, or to bed. I'm not picky.”

Brian gives a laugh before getting up and kneeling close to the body, slowly picking something up with his tweezers.

“I think you're in the wrong profession for that, Jimmy.”

“Are you saying I should be a whore?”

Beverly laughs.

“No, I'm saying an escort. One of them high class ladies.”

The three look up at the sound of footsteps. Will is making his was over followed closely by Lecter and Crawford. He looks uncomfortable and Beverly wants to throw her camera. They catch eyes and she gives him a smile and a wink. When he gives her a small smile in return she counts it as a win, though she doesn't feel very victorious.

Later when she's quickly packing her bag, about to run after Will, she sees Lecter appear next to him and place a hand above his lower back before moving it away. It's quick, but she sees it, and she decides to catch a car with Jimmy and Brian.

\--

Beverly walks in the door and drops her stuff unceremoniously on the floor. With a satisfied huff she walks into the kitchen and takes the orange juice from the fridge. Walking to the living room, jug at her mouth she's greeted with the sight of Will laying on the floor, working on a motor surrounded by their pack of dogs. She stops and watches for a moment, thinking back to the time where Will took out his entire hand and wrist when a motor sprung back to life unexpectedly while he was still working on it. She'll never forget the shock on Will's face or the amount of blood and skin that splattered their kitchen. She'll never forget how transfixed she was watching the chewed up looking skin grow and close in on itself, stretching into bone and muscle and nerves. She felt like she was back in science class with the dummies. Except she was positive Will wouldn't let her touch.

She shakes her head and continues to stare at Will. “Kinky.” she says, smirking when Will laughs.

“You know who else I bet is kinky?”

“Who?”

“Hannibal Lecter.”

Her smirk only grows when Will sputters a bit. He turns to look at her, his face incredulous but bright red. She laughs and points at his embarrassment, “Ha! So you do like Dr. Dreamy McDreamy! I knew it, you bastard.”

Will knows there is no point in denying it, not with Beverly anyway. So instead he sighs and admits defeat with a simple, “Shut up.”

“Aww, Willy,” she sighs leaning down to ruffle his hair. She's quiet for a moment before, “So, when are you gonna climb that?”

“Beverly!”

“William!”

They stare at each other for a moment, smiles threatening to take over the stare down.

“No.” Will says, but it's weak and full of unreleased laughter and it's enough. Beverly breaks, releasing a full belly laugh that has her clutching her stomach. They laugh until tears are in their eyes.

\--

Not even a month later Will doesn't come home after a date. - “It's not a date, Bev, he's just invited me over for dinner.” The next morning when he stumbles home looking thoroughly ravished and rumpled Beverly gives him a cup of coffee and sends him off to the shower, a knowing grin on her face.

It isn't until the evening during dinner consisting of take out that Beverly asks.

“So, he a bottom?”

Will's choking gives her the answer.

\--

“They stopped.”

Will looks up from is position on the porch, eyebrow raising in confusion. Currently he was giving each dog a bath, his hands rubbing into the foaming fur of Winston. “They stopped?”

“The nightmares.”

Will stops what he's doing and looks Beverly in the eyes, “Yes.”

“Is it because of him?”

“I think so.”

She's silent.

“Why do you ask?”

Beverly breaks their gaze and looks down, wiggling her toes together. “I just haven't heard you at night like I use to.”

“Bev-”

“No, Will. It's good. I'm glad he's helping you. You know I am.”

“I'm not moving out, Bev.”

She has the decency to blush and a small, “Oh.” escapes her lips.

“Yeah, oh.” He stands up and walks over to her, “I'm not leaving you.”

“Will, it's perfectly fine if you do. I mean I don't expect us to live together forever or anything. It's a natural progression in any relationship.”

Will frowns, “Do you want me to move out?”

“No! Yes...I don't-” she falters and Will sighs.

“I just don't want you to think that you have to stay here. If you want to go, Will, you know you can.”

“I know that.”

“But-?”

“But, I'm not ready for that with Hannibal.”

This time she frowns and Will can't help but smile, “I feel like the kid who's about to leave home. What? Afraid I won't call on the weekends, mom?”  
She gawks at him and slaps his arm and when she laughs he does too.

He's not ready to leave his little family, and he doesn't think he can.

\--

Will is walking around Hannibal's dining room when the piece fits into place. He stops and just stares into the distance as his mind connects the various dots and gaps. The information compiling all neat and tidy in his brain, and it all fits so perfectly that Will feels the triumph before the pain.

He feels accomplished at the thought that he's figured the Ripper out, and dread knowing that the man is just a set of doors away and will know the second he walks into the room that Will has figured it out.

He knows he can contact Jack, that he can send a text and have help on the way. He might not be alive to see the take down but he knows he can make it happen. He also knows that he can leave. Walk out the door and not look back.

Either way Hannibal would know and go after Will.

The man can claim that he cares for Will until the sun rises and sets, but Will knows that his instinct for survival will guarantee Will's death warrant.

Well, for a few hours anyway. Though he's not exactly sure. He's never regrown organs before.

He hears the doors swing open and his chance is gone. Not that he was going to take it, but he still feels his fight or flight instincts kick in and part of him wishes he took that exit.

He doesn't have to turn around to know that Hannibal is watching him. Maroon eyes piercing through his skin, imagining all he's going to do to get his organs.

Will spares a second to think about what he'd be made into.

“Will.” His voice is steady and low and Will finds himself turning around.

“It seems we have reached an end.”

“It does, doesn't it.”

“You have not alerted Jack.”

“No.”

“You did not leave.”

“No.”

“Why not.”

“Curiosity.”

Hannibal smiles then. It's sincere and wide and Will can't help but smile back.

He's going to die.

“I really did want a future with you, Will.” He reaches out and grabs one of the knives off the table, holding it up to the light. “In time I knew I could love you.”

Will raises an eyebrow.“You mean you don't already?”

“You may want to watch your tongue, Will. Someone might take it from you.”

“Only if it's you.”

Flirting. ' _Oh, if only Bev could see me now_.' He laughs because it's absurd. He's flirting, rather terribly he can admit, with the man he thought he could have something with, who turned out to be a serial killer.

He almost sighs when Hannibal lunges.

The pull of the knife is uncomfortable, the mountain edges of the blade cutting into his skin in a sea sawing motion is something he knows he never wants to repeat again. His head is pulled back and he slumps down onto Hannibal, furthering himself on the blade. Hands are stroking his cheek and carding through his hair and he soon realizes he lying on the ground and Hannibal is looming over him, knife now turned the other way and is slowly making its way down.

“Oh Will.” Hannibal sighs, like Will accidentally dropped something and wasn't currently having his insides ripped out, “What am I going to do with you?”

With his last breath, Will smiles.

\--

Will sits up with a groan. His head is pounding, his ass is cold and he wants to know where is clothes are when he remembers.

He groans again, grabbing his head with both hands.

A loud clanking startles him, though it appears he's not as startled as his audience.

In front of him Hannibal is looking at him with wide eyes, expression stunned and mouth open. Will almost laughs.

He takes the moment he has before Hannibal comes back to himself to look at his surroundings. He spots a few tubs with a red lids and immediately knows what's inside. He's surrounded by tools and steal and the undeniable smell of blood and he thinks about all those lairs on the shows Beverly makes him watch, noting that it's not far off. He turns his attention to Hannibal, who seems to have only been able to close his mouth.

“So,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. “you come here often?”

The sputtering was expected and Will feels immensely proud of himself for making a man as put together as Hannibal make such sounds. What he wasn't expecting, was the mouth over his, hungry and rough, practically forcing a kiss out of him.

Will doesn't stop himself from reaching up and grabbing at Hannibal's shoulders, returning the kiss.

He groans again when Hannibal presses into him. He's a little shocked when Hannibal pulls back and give him a questioning look.

“Sensitive.” he says.

Hannibal draws back and looks a little concerned, staring at the once torn up area of his torso. He doesn't remove his gaze before visibly composing himself. “Oh, I apologize”

Will looks at him, eyebrows drawing together, eyes wide.

“You can't say that after you've killed me. It doesn't work like that.”

“Well it is clear killing does not work on you.” He seems to falter. Will almost laughs. It's not everyday your dead lover comes back to life after you brutally murder them, huh. “We have a second chance, Will.” his voice is small and shy, and it's almost like the first time Hannibal kissed him.

Except it's not.

“We didn't need a second chance. We could have done this the first time around you ass.”

Hannibal looks affronted.

“So you are going to report me.”

“No,” he says, “I'm not going to do anything, except maybe shower.”

Will gets up off the table, carefully lowers himself onto his feet. When he feels stable enough to walk he turns to face Hannibal. “I'm using your shower.”

Hannibal, still obviously processing the scene before him just says,“Yes, of course.”

Will does laugh then and when he walks by he says, “Care to join?”

Hannibal carries him upstairs.

\--

Will can't look Beverly in the eye for the next little while.

She doesn't mention it.

\--

“Hey.”

Will doesn't look up from his spot on the couch, focused on his laptop and the flood of emails he's received from his students. For the first time in while he has a few free hours to dedicate to his class, and he felt a little guilt lessen off his chest when he made the announcement to his students.

He hasn't had a moments rest since.

“Hey.”

He tilts his head to the side in an attempt to show he's listening, but the piece of popcorn that hits off the side of his face tells him Beverly doesn't appreciate his effort.

“Hey, Willboy, pay attention to me.”

Sighing, he stops his typing and turns. “What?”

She puts her hands up in front of her and two tubes are in her grasp. “Touchy. I just wanted to know; red or purple.”

He sighs again, “Bev I don't-”

“No, just tell me, honest opinion, which colour do you think'll look better.”

He looks between the two tubes.

“Red.”

She smiles.

\--

He finds her in the lab doing nothing. Just leaning against a table, coffee cup at her lips and a far off look in her eyes.

“Beverly Katz,” Her eyes snap up at him and narrow at the use of her full name.  
“What?”

“Meet Hannibal Lecter.”

Her eyes shift to the other man in the room, and her eyebrows burrow together. “Yeah, we've met, Will. Kinda hard not to know the man banging my best friend.”

Will looks down and flushes. Beverly smirks around her cup.

“Yea, okay. But no, Bev, I'm now introducing you as the two people who know of my, ah, condition.”

Beverly slams her cup down on the table behind her and takes a few steps forward, entering his personal space.

“How did he find out? Did you get stabbed again? Dammit Will!”

“What? No!” she cocks an eyebrow and Will finds himself wanting to laugh.

“No, Bev, I wasn't stabbed. I simply told him and demonstrated.”

“Huh.” He knew she didn't believe him fully, and he had a feeling she would bring it up later, but the thought that he has some time to come up with a more solid and fool proof story gives him confidence. He doesn't realize he's zoned out a bit until he comes back to the present and sees Beverly and Hannibal staring each other down. He knows he's obviously missed something, Hannibal looking amused and Beverly looking ready to fight.

\--

“She's very protective of you.”

Will laughs as he helps prepare dinner. He's cutting up various vegetables and a few fruits, leaving the meat to Hannibal's capable hands.

“She kind of made her job when she met me, even before she knew about my condition.”

Hannibal stops working and turns towards him, a slight frown on his lips.

“What will you do once Miss. Katz moves on?”  
Will frowns at that. “Well I'd like to think that if she decides to do something else or move away that we'd still be friends. She is my family after all.”

Hannibal nods at that, but the worried frown is still there. “No, Will. I meant what will you do when she inevitably dies?”

Will doesn't say a thing for the rest of the evening.

\--

He's standing at the kitchen counter, knife in his hand. He alternates between looking at the blade and where his heart is. He knows he's probably wrong, that there probably isn't a way for him to die. But he also knows that he has to try. He doesn't see the harm in it, after all he's done it several times before and if he's wrong, no harm done.

Just as he's about to plunge the knife in the front door slams open and Beverly rounds the corner. Her breathing is heavy and she looks a little wild, and when she sees what he's doing she makes a noise at the back of her throat and her face scrunches up. “Will!”

He doesn't know what to say, and he knows he looks like an idiot with a deer caught in head lights expression, mouth open wide, knife at his heart.

“How did you uh-?”

She glares at him, and when she speaks her tone is harsh, “Hannibal called me. Said he was worried you were going to do something rash. More like something stupid, you piece of shit what are you thinking!?”

“I wanted to see if I could die.”

Her expression softens but her stance is still defensive. She walks closer and reaches out, covering his hand with her own, lowering the knife away form his body.

“Will-”

“You don't understand, I can't do this alone. What am I going to do when you die?”

Her eyes widen. Clearly she wasn't expecting that and Will would bet that she never really gave it much thought.

“Okay, number one. It is not cool to put that kind of pressure on someone, and number two, you'll live, Will.”

“I will die and you will live, because for whatever reason that's how it is. It'll be okay, Will.”

He's quiet for a moment.

“I've never been stabbed through the heart. Maybe that's it. Direct contact.” he says raising the knife, but she's right there with him and takes it from his grip.

“Yea, but you've been through a ton of shit, Will. Something tells me that's not going to do anything.”

He looks at the blade in her hands.

“And no,” she says, voice full of exasperation, “we're not going to find out.”

They're silent for a moment before Beverly sighs and pulls him in for a hug.

“Hey,” she says, lightly squeezing the back of his neck, “you still age. Maybe you'll just die old. Natural causes and everything.”

He scoffs, but pulls her closer hoping that, like always, she's right.

\--

“Where you going?”

“Hannibal's.”

“Ah. Bring home leftovers.”

“What? Bev, I'm not going to ask him for the leftovers.”

“Why not? You know he makes enough for like twenty people. Why cook when he can do it for me?”

“Still not doing it.”

“Aw, screw you.”

\--

“Here you are.” He says giving her a mug before taking a seat next to her. The both of them taking their usual spots on the porch, watching the dogs run and yip in the morning sunshine.

“Why thank you, Mr. Graham.” she says, attempting a posh English accent. It earns her a cringe.  
“Oh it wasn't that bad.”

“Yes it was. If I was English I would be offended, and rightly so.”

“Whatever.” She takes a sip and smiles. “It's good, but have been buying a different brand? It's been tasting a bit different lately.”

He frowns. “No, I don't think so. Maybe I've been making it stronger then normal. Sorry.”

“Well watch it next time.”

“Whatever.”

She snorts into her cup.

When he gets up again to get them each another cup she feels her stomach fill with alarm. She knows it has something to do with the coffee, but it's not what she's worried about. Will was acting strange. Different in a way that calls for concern.

\--

She walks in without knocking. He looks alarmed at her sudden entrance, but composes himself quickly, smoothing down the front of his shirt and jacket. He stands up and walks around his desk, meeting her halfway.

“Ah, Miss. Katz. What can I do for you?”

“What are you doing to him?”

They stare at each other for a while, the air thick with tension. She watches as his eyes shift, narrowing, and his posture becomes taller. He sees that she's ready for a fight.

“I assure you I don't know who you're talking about, but am I right to assume this is about Will.”

“You're damn right this is.”

“Language, Miss. Katz.”

“Don't pull this shit with me, Lecter. You're doing something to him, and I swear I will find out, and if it's bad, I will kill you.”

\--

Will frowns at his phone when he gets voice mail again.

“You've reached Beverly Katz. Sorry I couldn't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your info here I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep._

“Yeah, hey, it's me. Are you upset with me or something? Because, Bev, I'm starting to worry. Call me when you can.”

He hangs up and let's himself be filled with sick worry.

\--

It happens fast. One minute she's walking out Lecter's building to her car and the next she's on the ground. Head pounding and body sore, she remembers kicking and scratching but it's almost pointless; her head is too fuzzy from the first blow. It doesn't take long for her to black out from the pain of it all.

She wakes up with a gasp. She immediately feels the cold on her skin, and goose bumps appear causing her to shiver. The room is quiet and she knows she's alone.

Looking around she sees the bloodied floor and the tray of knives and picks, the clear plastic tubs sitting next to her, and she feels her stomach roll at the thought of what's inside.

She shivers again and becomes aware of her nakedness. Stretching out an arm she notes how stiff her muscles are and her skin feels stretched. It's also pale and she can see her veins perfectly.

Her stomach rolls again when she remembers where she's seen skin like this before.

With shaky arms she moves herself, legs falling over the edge of the table, dangling over the puddle of blood. With a small cry of pain she lifts herself up then down. Her legs give out from her weight and she tumbles to the floor.

Locating her clothes is harder then standing and walking, but she manages it. The process of getting them on and slow and painful and she has no clue as to what is going on.

All she knows is that she needs to get to a phone.

\--

When the door swings open and bangs against the wall, Will rushes over and stops once Beverly is in view. His heart stutters at the sight she makes.

She's wild. Dried blood caked on her face and neck. Faint cut marks around her neck and the start of her chest. clothes ripped and tattered.

“It's Hannibal. He's the Ripper.” She's breathless and tired. It's obvious from her voice, and yet she looks like she could take down an entire army.

He sputters a bit at her news and her certainty of it. She stares at him, obviously expecting something but he can't give her anything. He just stands there, a look of shock stamped across his face.

“Will! Aren't you going to ask me how I know?”

When the silence stretches on her eyes widen. “Oh my god. Oh my god you knew, didn't you?”

All he can do is shakily nod.

“You bastard!” she says, voice cracking. “He was killing people and because what? You're in love with him you couldn't let him go to jail? What happened to you doing this to save lives!?”

He stays quiet.

Beverly shakes her head and walks past him, disgust evident.“Well I'm not you and I'm putting the bitch down.”

That gets him moving.“Beverly don't.”

She stops.“Will, he knows I know. It's just a matter of time before he busts down our front door and kills me. Again.”

“Again?”

“You heard me. What have you been doing to me, Will? Because I should be cold and dead in Hannibal Lecter's basement.”

“You-you lived?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

He nods repeatedly and Beverly watches the movement until it becomes too much. She grabs hold of his shoulders, settling him.

“I've been, uh, I've been spiking your coffee.”

“My coffee?”

“With my blood, yes.”

She stares at him.

“You son of a bitch.”

Picking up the phone she begins to dial when Will covers her hands with his.

“Please don't, Bev. You can't. I need him.”

She looks at him, and he doesn't know which is worse, her disgust or the worry it dissolves into when he says that. “You can't ask that of me, Will. We're talking about the lives of others. I won't watch others die because you're in love.”

He whines, hands moving from hers to her sleeve, and he grips the fabric tightly. Before she the line connects to Jack she looks at him, her eyes full of sadness. “I'm sorry, Will. But you know it has to be done.”

\--

“Why did you do it?”

Will looks up at her from the motor he's working on. Hand halfway inside and he finds himself smiling briefly at an incident from long ago. It's been three month since she made the call to Jack. Things between them are different and Will doubts they'll ever be the same. But he knows he has a long time to make up for it.

Beverly is still working in the field, but Will got out, sticking with his teaching job.

He still doesn't understand why Hannibal never brought his name into it like he could have. And Will tries not to think about it too much. A feeling tells him that they'll see each other again. It's a feeling he doesn't tell Beverly.

One relationship at a time.

“Because I need you, Bev. You're my family. _”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had tons of fun writing this  
> Friendship fics - there needs to be more of them.  
> (Sorry Maria...but hey I wrote something!!)
> 
> Ce qui s'est passé (What happened)  
> Je suis tombé (I fell)  
> Ça va (It's okay)  
> Trop jeune (Too young)  
> Appelez une ambulance (Call an ambulance)  
> Je suis désolé, désolé- (I'm sorry, sorry) 
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


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